


caught under the space mistletoe

by imagines



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (sort of), Banter, Bottom Shiro, Explicit Consent, Fluffy Smut, Heat Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Scars, Sex Pollen, Size Kink, Switching, Top Lance, i didn’t intend to write sex pollen but sometimes these things happen, i like imagining that voltron takes place right now don't @ me, keith and lance’s snarky friendship, let me have my rock music references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 11:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13146099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: “Come to think of it, this looks familiar.” Lance touches a berry cluster. “Kind of like…”“Mistletoe,” Keith says.Distraction ruined. Lance could almost punch him.“What’s that?” Allura asks.“Horrible thing,” Keith says.“More likeadorable tradition,” Lance corrects him.“You take a little bundle of this poisonous, parasitic weed, and you hang it up over a doorway at Christmas,” Keith explains. “Whoever gets caught under it together has to kiss each other.”Allura frowns. “What happens to you if you don’t kiss?”“Nothing,” Keith says. “That’s why it’s dumb. It’s just an excuse for people to make out because they’re too scared to ask each other.” Keith narrows his eyes at Lance. “But sure, I suppose ‘adorable’ is one word for it.”[At the last minute, Lance realizes it's almost Christmas back on Earth and goes all-out to make Christmas happen on the Castleship, too. The only problem is, his mistletoe substitute comes with a slight catch. Hint: the catch is sex pollen.][jan. 5 edit: i salvaged the lost draft from my damaged computer! if you read this again, enjoy the extra 2000 words. ;p]





	caught under the space mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> For my dear friend M, who requested shance praise kink and then it kinda...went off the rails. ;p I meant to write about 1500 words. Oops?

Space fucks with Lance’s sense of time. No night or day, only the Castle’s artificial sunlight to keep his circadian rhythm in order. His brain has latched on to the Altean timekeeping system for lack of anything else; but one day, he starts wondering, and gives Fate the chance to fuck with him too. “Hey, Coran,” Lance calls, wandering onto the bridge. “Can you tell me what day it is?”

Coran peers at him. “It’s the fifth quintant of the Marthurian movement—you should know that! Are you feeling all right? You took quite a hard fall in training earlier.”

“That was a calculated move to distract my opponent!”

“Didn’t seem to work, since Number Four still beat you,” Coran observes. “Perhaps try a new tactic next time you spar with him. You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

Keith, whom Lance has just noticed, lazily unfolds himself from his flight chair. “His head’s fine,” Keith says. “I only crushed his pride.”

“No one asked you,” Lance snips. “Coran, I meant in Earth time. What is it— _when_ is it—back home?”

“Oh, of course!” Coran turns and taps at the console keyboard, frowning at the glowing text. “Goodness, what an uneven system of dates you have. However do you keep track? It seems so horrifically _uneven_."

Lance holds up a fist. “There’s a thing with counting your knuckles—”

“Calendars, mostly,” Keith interrupts. Lance shoots him a glare, not that he notices.

“Quaint,” Coran mutters. “In any case, it says here that it’s currently the twenty-third day of your twelfth month.”

Lance about feels his heart stop. “Holy shit, it’s almost Christmas! I’m not ready! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Keith, my buddy, my friend, my dude, you gotta help me!”

“You should ask Hunk. Or Pidge. Or literally anyone else. I’m not much for Christmas.”

“Not much for— _Keith_ , it’s food and presents, stop looking like you wanna jump out an airlock. What could you possibly have against it?”

“Don’t know,” Keith says. “Being alone for most Christmases in my life probably soured me on it. But it’s anyone’s guess.”

Lance chooses to ignore the withering sarcasm. “Well, you’re not alone now. And you and I make a good team when you actually _try_ , so—”

“Not helping your case.”

“Okay, okay, lemme try again. Sorry. Would you _please_ help me decorate? I want it to be a surprise for the others.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “You mean for Shiro?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re always showing off around him? I mean, it’s kind of obvious.”

“Coran, you better put Keith in a cryopod. I think he’s hallucinating.”

Coran is rubbing his temples, the picture of complete exhaustion with one’s current situation. “I’m going to check on the…redivision accelerometers. Yes. Earlier they were—smoking slightly.” He makes his escape, almost unnoticed as Lance faces off with Keith.

“Redivision whatevers are not a thing,” Keith says.

“I know that!” Lance kinda wants to leave too, but then Keith would think he’d made it through a chink in Lance’s armor, not that Lance’s armor even _has_ chinks. The point is, Keith can’t just _win_ this. Whatever “this” is. “Nothing’s ‘kind of obvious,’ Keith. You’re seeing things, and as your team member, I am worried about y—”

“So I’m imagining your huge-ass crush on Shiro?”

“Exactly, you’re imagi—wait, my _what_? I don’t have a crush on him! Are you going to help me or not?”

“Help with what?” says Shiro, who is too fucking sneaky for anyone’s good. Lance hadn’t even heard the bridge door open.

Lance whirls. “With the—um—” He's momentarily distracted by Shiro’s biceps, which is _not a thing_ that has ever happened before and is obviously Keith’s fault for putting the idea of a crush in his head in the first place.

“We’re investigating some new information about the Galra,” Keith interjects smoothly. “I’ll fill you in later. Right now Lance and I have to go check the—things—”

“The redivision accelerometers!”

“Right, those. Come on, Lance—” Keith grabs his upper arm and hauls him off the bridge, and the door whisks shut behind them on one seriously confused-looking Shiro.

Lance rounds on Keith. “Now he’s gonna think we have a _plan!_ ”

“I saved your ass back there, or did you want to keep staring at him with your mouth open?” Keith pulls a face, his eyelids fluttering. “Ooh, _Shiro_ , you’re so sexy, I could just eat you up—”

“You said it, not me,” Lance huffs. When Keith’s cheeks flush, Lance figures he’s hit a nerve. “Maybe I’m not the only one with a crush, huh?”

“I do not have a crush on Shiro!”

Lance nods understandingly. “Denial is often more comfortable than self-examination. It’s okay, Keith, I’ll make sure you get your chance at midnight on New Year’s Eve.”

“If you don’t drop it, I will leave you alone with your weird Christmas fantasies—”

“Okay, okay! Consider it dropped. So you’re gonna help me out?”

“Seems that way.” Keith’s sigh is deep and pained. “We should ask Allura if she has any decorations. They used to have parties and stuff on the ship, right?”

Lance decides maybe he won’t have to regret asking for Keith’s help.

 

Allura’s brows have drawn together in deep concentration. “Of course you can use whatever we have available,” she says. “This Earth custom sounds like a lively diversion. But Lance—can you explain to me again about the space flight to the ice planet? I don’t understand the purpose of leaving tributes to this ancient deity you call Santana. What benefits do you receive?”

There is a thud from behind Lance; Keith has just banged his forehead against the wall. “Stop that,” Lance says. “I need you un-concussed. Allura, it’s not—we don’t—it’s just a _fun thing_ , it’s make-believe. Nobody believes in Santa except little kids.”

“A being whose existence relies entirely on young humans’ belief. Intriguing,” Allura muses.

“That’s not exactly—” Lance says, but Keith holds up a hand.

“Close enough. So, Allura, where would we find these decorations?”

 

Allura leads them to a nondescript door in a hallway Lance doesn’t recognize. She reaches for the sensor but freezes before her hand lands on it. “I haven’t opened this room since we woke up,” she says. “It’s just a storage closet, I don’t know why I’m…” Her voice fractures on the last syllable.

Lance touches her shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t have to open it. Keith and I can find something else.”

Allura gives him a wobbly smile. “Thank you. There’s nothing bad in here, though. Only happy memories. And I think they’d prefer getting another chance to shine, than to continue lying alone in the dark.” She presses her hand to the pad, and the door slides open.

The lights come on, revealing a room like a giant walk-in closet, shelves lining every wall and stretching up at least three times Lance’s height. There are bolts of fabric in every imaginable color, dusty glassware, long strands of garland—it reminds Lance of a craft store, except run by royalty. Which. This basically is.

“In here is everything we used to trim the castle for banquets, diplomatic balls…”Allura swallows, trailing her hand over a roll of shimmering pink cloth. “Even state funerals. Please, look around as long as you want. There’s a ladder to reach the higher shelves. And use anything that catches your fancy—I almost feel like these decorations are pleased we’ve come to visit.” She laughs as she heads for the door, giving the shelves a little wave. “I suppose I’m just a little overwhelmed at seeing them again, though.”

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Keith prods Lance in the ribs. “ _Santana_ ,” he hisses, and Lance swears he hears him giggle.

“Would you stop?” Lance grabs a ladder and starts climbing. There’s a weird glow on an otherwise-dark shelf way up high that’s caught his attention. “I don’t even like Santana! I grew up on Nirvana and, like, Radiohead.”

“No, no, I get you. In space, no one asks me if I listen to X Japan. It’s like, you didn’t even get the country right. I appreciate space.” Keith is already pawing through a shelf of sparkly baubles. “Some of these look great for a tree. Not that you’re gonna find a tree on board an alien spaceship.”

"You never know." About fifteen feet up, Lance peers into the dark and dusty shelf and rummages behind some boxes, catching hold of the glowing thing. "We could be blessed with our very own Christmas miracle. Look at this!" He scrambles down the ladder and holds out his prize: a stone pot containing a small plant with pale green leaves and clusters of tiny white berries that shine as if lit from within.

“That is not a tree,” says Keith, who has no sense of imagination _or_ beauty. “That might, on a good day, be called a shrub.”

“That is uncalled for. It’s trying its best. And it’s _alive_ —that’s the miracle. Do you think Allura knows about this? Whoa, hey—” Lance almost drops the plant. “Keith? I think it moved.”

“It’s a plant, Lance. It doesn’t—”

The plant shakes itself like a drenched chihuahua. Keith’s eyes go wide.

“You were saying?” Lance asks. “Come on, let’s go find out what the hell it is.”

Looking dubious, Keith gathers up his selection of garlands and ornaments and follows Lance out of the storage room.

 

Lance and Keith burst onto the bridge to find everyone gathered around a map, Shiro marking out their next movements. Lance holds up the plant. “Look what we found in the storage closet!”

“Heavens, that’s a candlebush!” Coran says. “A most rare species, found only in the southern plains of Altea. I can’t imagine why King Alfor possessed a specimen.”

Allura touches her fingertip to one crisp little leaf. “And I can’t imagine how it’s still alive when it wasn’t in cryosleep.”

“I’d heard these beauties were immortal, but no one ever knew for sure,” Coran says. “But they _were_ studied heavily due to two unique properties they hold. They naturally emit light, hence their name. And the true scent of their flowers is utterly unknown, for it changes depending on who is smelling them. The theory goes that one will experience the scent of whatever they desire most in that moment. For instance, I smell roast kaffalu… and Mother’s fresh-baked lorafruit pastries…” Coran’s eyes have glazed over. “I don’t know much else about the candlebush, so I think I’ll head down to the kitchen if that’s all right.”

“Thank you Coran, that’s perfectly fine.” Allura takes a slow, deep breath. “I smell juniberries,” she says, the corner of her mouth twisting down. “Not much of a surprise there, I suppose. Can any of you smell anything?”

They all shake their heads. “It just kind of smells like a plant,” Pidge says. “You know. Green.”

“Lance, weren’t you looking for something to hang ornaments from to please Santana? Wouldn’t this work?” Allura asks.

“ _Santa!_ ” Lance yelps. “His name is Santa and the ornaments are unrelated!—but—yes, actually that just might work. How about it, little buddy? Want to be a Christmas tree?” The plant quivers gently in its pot, leaves rustling. “Aww, it’s happy!”

“I hate it when it does that,” Keith mutters.

“What exactly is going on?” Shiro is coming over now, not that there was much of the secret left to keep.

“Christmas,” Lance says. “Or whatever I can manage of it.” It hardly seems like enough, under the scrutiny of six other sets of eyes.

There’s silence for a moment.

“I could make Christmas cookies,” Hunk offers. “No accidental teludav lenses this time, I promise.”

“Lance, that’s really sweet of you. I can help with decorations if you want,” Pidge says.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Lance hides his smile in his jacket collar, until he gets up the nerve to look at Shiro.

“So no Galra plan, just…Christmas.” Shiro’s got this soft, proud look in his eyes, and it’s aimed straight at Lance.

The first time Lance ever stood on the high dive board at the local pool, his stomach flipped just like it’s flipping now. And then he’d jumped, and he’d loved it, and he’d done it over and over until his mom made him get out of the water to go home.

Quickly, he looks at the plant in his hands to distract himself. “Come to think of it, this looks familiar.” Lance touches a berry cluster. “Kind of like…”

“Mistletoe,” Keith says.

Distraction ruined. Lance could almost punch him.

“What’s that?” Allura asks.

“Horrible thing,” Keith says.

“More like _adorable tradition_ ,” Lance corrects him.

“You take a little bundle of this poisonous, parasitic weed, and you hang it up over a doorway at Christmas,” Keith explains. “Whoever gets caught under it together has to kiss each other.”

Allura frowns. “What happens to you if you don’t kiss?”

“Nothing,” Keith says. “That’s why it’s dumb. It’s just an excuse for people to make out because they’re too scared to ask each other.” Keith narrows his eyes at Lance. “But sure, I suppose ‘adorable’ is one word for it.”

“Can you be slightly more cynical? You know, in the spirit of Christmas?” Lance asks.

Shiro scratches the back of his head, a little sheepish. “I always thought it was kind of cute. We always had it at the Garrison at Christmas," he says. “I may have found myself under it a time or two.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “Is that so? Huh. Never would have figured. Well, Lance, I wholeheartedly support your mistletoe endeavor. Pick some twigs off that bush, hang them up, _see what happens_.”

Lance grits his teeth, making a mental note to, at the earliest possible opportunity, tell Keith to go fuck himself.

 

On Christmas Eve, they assemble in the lounge to decorate. Pidge, perched on Hunk’s shoulders, declares herself in charge of garlandry, and the two of them busy themselves hanging wide pieces of red and green fabric across the ceiling. Lance sets the candlebush down at the far end of the room, across from the door, where it twinkles away very merrily indeed—apparently, its berries can flash just like Christmas lights if they want. And he does pluck a sprig of it, apologizing to the candlebush, though it doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls Keith away from a plate of Hunk’s famous food-goo brownies and makes him hoist Lance up so he can hang the sprig over the doorway with a piece of red ribbon.

“Happy with your kiss trap?” Keith says. “I think I hear Shiro coming—better go stand under it.”

“Shut the hell up,” Lance replies, but he doesn’t manage to put as much fire in it as usual. “But thanks for the boost! I owe you!”

“I can’t imagine a universe in which you’d find a way to repay me for setting up space Christmas with you, but sure, man.”

“New Year’s,” Lance reminds him. “Midnight. I’ll help.” He makes kissy noises until Keith turns bright red, which happens in less than five seconds. “Ha! Thought so.”

Keith refuses to answer.

When they’re finished, Hunk brings out a pitcher of what he has dubbed “fakenog.” It tastes just like the real thing, although Lance suspects Nunvill is involved by the way the room and his emotions tilt sideways after he finishes a mug of it.But he can’t prove anything, because Hunk’s an actual genius that way, and Lance makes sure to inform him of that fact while leaning heavily against him on the couch.

“Lance, my oldest, dearest friend, you should maybe lay off the fakenog.” Hunk pats his shoulder comfortingly as Lance launches into Part 3, Section 8 of his speech called Why Hunk Is Awesome. He’s coming up with it on the spot. He doesn’t know how many parts it will have. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?” No, not okay, he _loves_ Hunk, Hunk should stay right here—Hunk stands up anyway, and Lance groans and flops down onto the couch.

From here he can see the candlebush glowing away at the far end of the lounge, its tiny branches decked with tinier gold and silver balls from the storage closet. He squints—has it gotten brighter? Bigger? He looks the other way, and there’s the little bouquet of berries over the door, flickering just like candle flames. Pretty.

Hunk returns to make him sit up and drink water. Lance complies, but goes one step further by struggling to his feet. “I wanna make a toast!” he declares, and everyone turns to him. “First, welcome to the First Annual Castleship Christmas Party. Glad you could all make it. Sorry to say the Galra send their regrets. Listen…some of you I’ve known for half my life.” He grins at Hunk. “Some of you I got close to at the Garrison.” Pidge lifts her mug in acknowledgement. “Some of you seem like kind of a dick—” Keith’s glaring at him now— “But you’re _actually_ pretty cool. Some of you I’ve met only recently, but I already consider you friends.” Allura and Coran have suspiciously shiny eyes. “And some of you I’ve admired for a long time, and I’m glad to have the chance to know you better.” Shiro’s eyes have gone all gentle and kind again, and Lance can handle that for about half a second max before he has to look away. “To all of us. Let’s kick some Galra ass.” He raises his glass of water.

They all echo him, and he drops onto on the couch again. Hunk gets him settled, tucked into the corner with a pillow and blanket he apparently procured from thin air. He lets himself float like that in the space between sleep and waking. Shiro’s teaching carols to Coran and Allura, while Pidge and Keith dance (badly) to the only-slightly-off-key vocals. Hunk has an arm around his shoulders. It’s beautiful in this room, and he’s surrounded by happy friends and good food. Space Christmas is his best idea ever.

 

Some time later, Lance awakens to a dim and empty room—no, not empty; Shiro’s across from him on the other couch, gaze intent on a small handheld screen. “Do you ever stop working?” he mumbles.

Shiro looks up. “Oh, you’re awake! The others have all headed to bed, but you looked too comfortable to move, so I offered to stay and keep you company.”

Lance’s stomach swoops a little. He’s alone with Shiro. That’s not a common occurrence. “Thanks. I think I’m ready to go lie down in my own bed, though.” He goes to stand up, sways dangerously, and finds himself landing in Shiro's arms. The guy is sneaky _and_ fast.

“Hey, whoa, I got you,” Shiro says. “I’ll take you to your room, okay?”

Lance wants to complain; wants to insist that he absolutely does not require assistance just to go to bed, but Shiro’s arms are warm, and large, and he opts to keep his mouth shut. Shiro eases him up the steps, and just as they reach the door, Lance stops. “Look,” he says, pointing at the candlebush sprig, whose berries are now shining as bright as tiny suns. “You got caught under the mistletoe again.”

Shiro’s arm tightens around him, which doesn’t do anything to help his suddenly-pounding heart. “Lance, you don’t have to. It’s just a decoration.”

“Anyone ever tell you you can be a little _too_ protective?”

“That is a common criticism, yes.” Shiro’s eyes dart up to the berries, and he bites his lip.

Lance misses neither action. 

Courage surges through Lance, and he is well aware it’s a fleeting thing, only coming to him because of the late hour, or the fact that it’s Christmas Eve, or that he’s still kinda fuzzy from the fakenog. Could be all three. But he seizes on it anyway. “Are you saying that because you don’t want to?” he asks. “Or because you think I’ll regret it?”

Shiro opens his mouth, and Lance fully expects to be pushed away any moment now, to be told it’s not like that between them and never will be. That Shiro’s flattered but they need to drop the subject.

Maybe the fakenog’s gotten to them both, because what Shiro actually says is, “If you really want to, go ahead.”

Holy shit.

“Okay,” Lance says. “Okay, I’m gonna do this.” He leans in until his breath is brushing Shiro’s lips. Half a heartbeat later Shiro’s mouth falls open again, and this time it’s nervewracking for a whole other reason. He tastes like nutmeg and cinnamon, because he’d enjoyed the fakenog too. Lance slides his arms around Shiro’s waist, pulling their bodies right up against each other, pressing his fingertips into the dip of Shiro’s spine. When he flicks his tongue into Shiro’s mouth, Shiro gasps, so he does it over and over until Shiro’s shuddering in his arms.

Abruptly, Shiro breaks the kiss and steps back, breath trembling. “I need to stop there, or…” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if in desperate prayer.

Lance doesn’t have to ask “or what.” They’d been pressed close enough that he couldn’t miss the effect on Shiro, and he carefully does not look down. “It’s okay,” he assures Shiro. “It was nice. Really nice. Thank you.” He’s proud of how his voice stays level, despite the fact that he has just learned what it’s like to kiss Shiro, and now all he wants is to do it again.

“You’re welcome,” Shiro says, because he’s somehow the hottest man alive in Lance’s completely objective opinion, and also the most awkward.

That's when there’s a faint rustling above them, and some kind of weird silvery dust comes raining down on them. "What the fuck?" Lance breaks free and tries to dust himself off, but the powder just smears into glittery smudges on his clothing. He squints up at the little bouquet. “Did that thing just glitterbomb us?!”

Shiro’s frowning. “I think it’s some kind of pollen. Maybe we should wake Coran?”

“He and Allura didn’t say the plant was dangerous. Can’t it wait till morning?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Shiro says. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

At the door to Lance's room, Shiro lets go of him.

"See you in the morning, Lance."

“Yeah, see you.” Lance wonders what morning will be like, whether he’ll keep a straight face or turn red, whether he’ll get stuck wondering if he’ll ever get to do this again or if that was his one chance. Shiro’s concerns about regret might have been on to something, but one can also regret not having tried, and Lance knows which one he’d rather suffer.

 

Christmas morning arrives, and with it, delirium. Or that’s the only explanation Lance can come up with for waking up hard with his hand already inside his underwear, already hard and dizzy from it. No dream he can recall, no hazy thoughts, just this unfocused aching need that he’s gotta take care of _now now now_. There isn’t room in his mind to question it, so he doesn’t. He’s never come so fast in his life, and then he’s left with cold and sticky pants, in dire need of a shower.

He peers into the hallway before leaving his room, but the lights are dim and it looks like everyone is still asleep. Good. Even with his jacket tied around his waist, he still _knows_ there’s a wet spot on the front of his pajama pants, and he just doesn’t want to interact with anyone like this.

He eases open the door to the showers—and slams right into Shiro, who’s dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. And currently flushing pink from his face to his chest.

Lance jolts away from him, but it’s too late—now he knows what Shiro’s bare, damp chest feels like under his palms, and it makes his own need for a shower that much more...urgent. “Morning,” he chokes out.

“I’m sorry, I was just leaving, I didn’t know anyone else was up.”

“S’fine. Just, uh, couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” Shiro’s eyes are wide and he seems to be looking anywhere but directly at Lance. “Hey, did you—when you woke up—you know what, never mind, I’ll see you at breakfast.” He pushes past Lance and out the door.

Lance wouldn’t have expected Shiro to go the complete-avoidance route, especially not since they’d both enjoyed that kiss. But fine. He has himself a very grumpy shower, the warm water totally failing to soothe away his tension, and finishes scrubbing himself down as quickly as possible. He has half a mind to inform Shiro that he managed to ruin a _shower_. Who _does_ that?

Breakfast is awkward as hell, Lance is not gonna lie. Shiro barely acknowledges Lance’s presence at the table, and nearly chokes on his toast the one time they make eye contact. It is noticeably weird, and the others do notice.Lance can see them passing confused looks to each other. Most disconcertingly of all, the feeling from that morning has returned, though thankfully somewhat muted. Now instead of a volcano erupting inside him, it feels more like an angry squirrel trapped and scrabbling to get free. He orders the squirrel-feeling to be quiet. It doesn’t listen.

Once they've finished eating, they gather in the lounge to work out their next plan of action and enjoy the decorations while they’re at it. Lance sniffs—there’s a strong smell of nutmeg and cinnamon in the air. “Did anyone light candles somewhere?” But everyone shakes their heads.

After maybe ten minutes of Shiro and Lance valiantly keeping their eyes off each other, Keith slaps the table with both hands. “This is _not working_ ,” he announces. “Why are you two acting so weird with each other? We all have to  _communicate!_ "

“What’d you do last night, make out under the mistletoe or something?" Pidge snarks, and as Shiro and Lance turn matching shades of red, her eyes widen. “Oh my god, you did, didn’t you!”

Shiro raises his eyes, as if salvation might appear from behind a ceiling tile. He takes a deep breath, then turns to Coran. “Okay, something odd did happen last night. We—kissed, yes—and the plant...did something. Shook some kind of powder or dust onto us. I don't know what it was. In any case, this morning I woke up—distracted." Shiro swallows hard, and that’s when it hits Lance: Shiro must have woken up the same way he did. No wonder he’s so jumpy.

Coran frowns. "The candlebush isn’t poisonous, though. Do you feel ill?”

"No, I'm not sick. I just feel. Weird. It's hard to describe."

It's hard to describe, Lance thinks, because none of the others need to know the exact details.

Allura taps her lips with one finger. "I have heard," she says slowly, "that some individuals can be affected particularly strongly by the candlebush. It's rare in Alteans, but perhaps less so in humans."

"So what happens to them?" Lance asks.

"As you know, the plant mimics the scent of something one craves deeply. Normally it's limited to food, but I suppose in certain cases..."

"It could also be people," Keith finishes.

“In other words,” Allura says primly, “it has the potential to activate one’s particle barrier.”

Lance puts his face in his hands.

Keith narrows his eyes at Shiro. "By any chance, have you been smelling Lance's shampoo or something?"

"I thought it was his hair!" Shiro protests.

"Even when he's nowhere near you?"

"I didn't exactly jump to the conclusion of 'an alien plant is trying to hook us up.' Oh god, Allura, is that what's happening?"

"I wish I knew for certain, but the effect of the candlebush on humans has not been documented. I suppose it's possible the plant sensed a...connection"—how delicate of Allura—"and attempted to strengthen it."

Pidge laughs. "Aww, it thinks it's helping!"

"Some help," Lance groans. "How long is the...weird feeling...gonna last?" Shiro's eyes snap to him, and Lance rather enjoys seeing the realization strike him that Lance is in the same damn boat.

"I can't say. For the Alteans to whom this happened, their distress was not alleviated until they gained the object of their desire. This was fairly simple to accomplish if all one wanted was a favorite dish." _Less simple when it's people_ , is the implication here.

The plant rustles gently; Lance suspects it is laughing.

"Well," Shiro says, "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

 

They disperse for a break in the afternoon, and Lance waits til no one's looking before racing after Shiro. He needs to confirm something. "Shiro, wait up!" he calls, and Shiro practically jumps out of his skin.

“Oh, hi. I was just going to—ah—take a nap. What’s up?”

Somehow Lance does not believe him. "When you said you woke up feeling weird—" Now that he's actually got Shiro in front of him, he can't figure out how to ask. "Did you feel, um, kind of…desperate?" He can feel his face heating up again, so if Shiro isn't sure what he means, that should make it more obvious.

Shiro presses his fingertips to his eyes. "I don't know if I should tell you that."

"Shiro. Listen to me. This is happening to both of us, meaning both of us wanted it to begin with. So just—think about it, that's all I'm asking."

"Without that plant, this wouldn't be happening at all.”

“The plant didn't _make_ us want anything. You know that, right? I've been—” Lance laughs, a little hysterically. "It's not like this is the first time I've thought about it." He tries taking a step closer, and Shiro stays put. “This isn’t new for you either, is it?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Shiro says. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

 _You don’t have to_ , Shiro had said the night before, and it’s looking like they gotta have the same conversation about it. “Is it because you don’t want to?” Lance asks.

Shiro rubs the palm of his metal hand. “I think you’ll regret it.”

Lance inches closer to him, slowly, so as not to spook him. The time for sidestepping is long past; directness is key. “Do you think there’s some reason I shouldn’t want you?”

Shiro looks down at his metal hand and clenches it into a fist, saying nothing.

“Just tell me if you want to,” Lance says. He’s edging into Shiro’s personal space now, close enough to touch, but he keeps his hands at his sides. “And I’ll handle the rest.”

Shiro looks him in the eye, _finally_. “You’re so—” But he doesn’t finish his sentence. This time, it’s Shiro who closes the last of the distance. He catches Lance’s lip in his teeth and sucks hard, dragging a whimper out of him. “I want to,” Shiro breathes into his mouth.

“So can we?”

“Now?”

“Or we could take a nap.” Lance smiles his most innocent smile. “Up to you.”

Shiro’s hands come up, and Lance shivers when Shiro grips his sides. “Somehow, I don’t feel all that sleepy anymore.”

 

“Okay, this is ridiculous.” They’ve absconded to Shiro’s room, and Lance has Shiro on his back on the bed, which is unbelievable to begin with, but— “Are you allowed to have this many muscles? Like, as a human being?”

“Wanna file a complaint with the management?” Shiro grins up at him, relaxed and happy and one hundred percent naked, because Lance has been undressing him since they crashed through the bedroom door.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Something must be done about this.” Starting with Lance pulling off his t-shirt and throwing it on the floor. “I think you should show me what you were gonna do. Before I stopped you in the hallway.”

Shiro doesn’t break eye contact as he reaches down to take hold of himself. “I really was going to nap,” he says. “After...this.” He moves his hand slowly, lazily.

“Were you planning on thinking about anything in particular?”

“Might have been. Can’t say for sure.” Shiro lets go of his dick and slides his hand further back between his legs, and Lance glances down to see what— _oh_.

“You’re such an ass,” Lance informs him. “Speaking of which—” He slaps Shiro’s hip. “Turn over.”

Shiro raises one _very_ interested eyebrow. “Yes, sir,” he says, rolling onto his stomach, which is good because now he can’t see Lance having a tiny choking fit.

On Shiro’s back, the evidence of his captivity intensifies: Crisscrossing white lines, brutal tick marks counting lashes. Four deep parallel gouges where some huge creature must have raked its claws across his shoulder. Patches of burned, melted skin. And strange red marks in delicate fractal patterns, like feathery vines, spreading along his left side.

“Will it hurt if I touch your back?”

“You don’t have to touch it,” Shiro murmurs into the sheets. “I know it’s pretty torn up.”

Lance braces his hands on either side of Shiro’s torso and bends low so he can whisper in Shiro’s ear. “That’s not what I asked, though. Do you want me to touch your back? Would it feel good?”

A beat of silence.

“Yes, it would feel good. But it’s fine if you don’t want to.”

Lance sets his hands down dead-center on Shiro’s back, just a light touch, and it makes Shiro gasp. “I’m not afraid to touch you.”

Breathless: “Didn’t think you were.”

“I’m not grossed out, either.”

Shiro doesn’t answer that, which probably means Shiro doesn’t entirely believe him, but that’s okay.

He runs his palms up and down Shiro’s back for awhile, finding the tense places and working them loose. He’s never seen scars like the thin red lines branching down Shiro’s ribcage. Fascinated, he traces each curving tendril to its end, then starts again from the central line.

Shiro’s breathing turns slow and even. They may be here because some alien plant decided to throw their mutual attraction into overdrive, but that doesn’t mean he’s not gonna take his time. Shiro deserves it.

“They’re called lightning flowers.”

Lance’s hand stills. “What?”

“Those marks. Or Lichtenberg figures, but ‘flowers’ sounds nicer, right?” Shiro shifts onto his other side, giving Lance a better look. “Usually they’re from getting hit by lightning. I got hit by Myzax. Glanced off me, though, or I’d be dead.”

“I’m glad you’re not.” It’s not enough. Then again, there’s nothing anyone can say that’s enough for what Shiro went through. Suddenly all he wants is to lie down next to Shiro, breathe deeply with him, and memorize this moment. Just in case, because around here, the next battle’s always coming up quick. So he nestles himself beside Shiro, keeping an arm around Shiro’s waist.

“I’m glad I’m not, too.” Shiro’s eyes are drifting closed, and Lance finds himself seriously considering that nap idea. Just… for a little while.

 

They wake up on fire. Not _literally_ on fire, obviously, but Lance is shoving his jeans down his thighs before he’s gotten his eyes all the way open because both of them are radiating heat like twin stars. At some point in his sleep, Shiro had turned over, so now Lance is pressed up to his spine _trying_ not to move. Then Shiro moans and rocks his ass against Lance’s dick and, well, so much for self-restraint. “Now?” Lance asks, as if he’s not already grinding against Shiro and leaving wet streaks all over him.

“ _Now_ ,” Shiro pleads. 

“Do you have anything?” Lance barely keeps his voice from shaking, because holy shit, this is really happening, Shiro’s really scrabbling in a drawer under the bed and pressing a little bottle into Lance’s hands. Whatever’s written on it isn’t in English. Lance is pretty sure it’s not an Earth language at all. He pulls off the cap; whatever substance is inside is clear and slippery and smells kind of like strawberries. “How did you get—you know what, never mind.” If Shiro’s mysterious possession of space lube has anything to do with anyone else on board this ship, Lance will have to excuse himself to laugh his ass off. Which would really, really kill the mood.

Holy shit, there's a  _mood_.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. None of this is new to him, but it’s never been  _Shiro_.

At the first press of his finger, Shiro cries out—a broken sound—and Lance freezes. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, you’re fine, just—go slow—”

He eases into Shiro in minute movements, until he can’t reach any deeper. “That’s one.”

Shiro is already shaking. “ _More_.”

Lance will take all day at this if that’s what Shiro wants, so he begins to slip a second finger in beside the first, keeping the same unhurried pace. His senses narrow to three burning points: the heavy, hot clench of Shiro’s hole around his fingers; the pressure threatening low in his belly, like a wave held back by gossamer; and his mouth against the back of Shiro’s neck. He tastes salt; the sheen on Shiro’s body is a sign of his effort. “Good,” Lance whispers, wanting the word to sink into Shiro’s skin like a brand, to remind him of the truth whenever his mind tells him otherwise. “There you go, like that. Just let me inside. You’re so good. So brave.”

His fingers slide easy now, Shiro having gone boneless underneath him. He can’t help the stuttering jerk of his hips; knows Shiro can feel him achingly hard against the back of his thigh; can’t do a damn thing about it. They’ll both just have to shower later. Together, maybe. There’s an idea.

Shiro’s getting louder. “Want me to fuck you?” Lance asks.

“No—just—like this—” Shiro gasps. “God, you feel good, I’m gonna—fuck—”

“Yeah, come on—” Lance presses his forehead to the top of Shiro’s spine and thrusts hard, wishing for a fleeting moment that he could see Shiro’s face; but either there will be time for that later or there won’t be. No way to know. There's only _now_. “—do it, come for me _now_ —”

Turns out Shiro is dead silent when he comes. Lance hears a sharp little intake of breath, and nothing more until Shiro’s shuddering and panting in his arms.

Lance rolls off him to let him catch his breath properly, although he leaves one hand on Shiro’s back.

For long minutes, Shiro says nothing. Hardly even moves. Then, with speed belying his recent exertions, he flips over, shoves Lance onto his back, and wraps his hands around the tops of Lance’s thighs. “Your turn,” he says, and there’s that grin again. “Hold still.”

“Oh, _fu_ —” is all Lance gets out, before his voice crumbles into breathless little cries, due to the fact that Shiro has decided to give him the most single-minded blowjob of Lance's life. He tries to squirm, but Shiro lays one huge forearm across his stomach and _keeps_ him still. It’s not even two minutes before he’s coming in Shiro’s mouth.

“Feeling better?” Shiro asks.

Their body heat has cooled off considerably. “Yeah,” Lance says, because at least he’s not a small human-shaped bonfire anymore. But the reality of what’s taken place is sinking in now. If he leaves this room without clearing everything up, he’s not sure he’ll ever have the nerve to mention it again. “So...what happens once this stuff wears off?”

“I can’t feel it now,” Shiro says. “I think it’s done wearing off.”

Oh. “Okay,” Lance says, although his stomach aches like he’s swallowed a boulder. “I guess I should go, then?” He moves to get up.

“Lance, wait.” Shiro grabs his wrist and pulls him back down. “Remember how you said the plant only got to us like that because there was already something there? You...weren’t wrong. It was never just the plant for me, either. I can’t feel its effects anymore, but I still want to do _this_.” He rises up onto one elbow, cups the back of Lance’s head, and presses a soft kiss to Lance’s mouth.

“Okay,” Lance repeats, and his face is being taken over by an uncontrollably huge smile, because out of every ending he’d imagined to this whole weird experience? This was never one of them. But it’s his favorite.

“I actually do kinda want to take a nap,” Shiro tells him. “Would you stay with me?”

“All I can say is…” Lance grabs the blanket at the end of the bed and tucks it around both of them. “Merry Christmas to me?” He gets to fall asleep to Shiro smiling at him, and he’ll get to wake up with Shiro’s arms around him. From the looks of it, this won’t be the only time, either. This really is the best Christmas ever.

He’s gotta thank the candlebush later. And then get it stashed back on that shelf before anyone _else_ gets caught in its little schemes.

**~ a tiny stupid epilogue ~**

Because Fate isn’t done fucking with him yet, Lance opens the door of Shiro’s room just as Keith is coming out of his.

Keith, to his credit, manages to keep his expression perfectly neutral—though to be fair, that’s just his face most of the time. “Did you get it out of your system?” And then his lips twitch.

Oh no, Lance will not permit this mockery. There’s only one way to stop Keith. “It’s more like I got it into—”

“Okay, you can shut up now!” Keith darts back inside his room like a frightened hermit crab, slamming his door.

Whistling, Lance heads for the kitchen, since he always wakes up hungry. It’s like they say: honesty really is the best policy.

**Author's Note:**

> True story: I had this nearly complete except for one or two scenes, and it was over 6k long, aaand then I spilled water on my laptop the night before Christmas Eve. I managed to reconstruct it within two days, almost entirely from memory, although there’s about 2k where I flat-out cannot remember what I wrote. If my data ends up salvageable, this might get a couple of edits, but I desperately wanted to post it on Christmas as it’s, y’know, a Christmas fic and a gift fic. I did my best!!
> 
> edit 1/5/18: LAPTOP IS SAVED. Edits made. May I never experience that terror EVER AGAIN.


End file.
